


Progress

by LearnedFoot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Antagonists with benefits, Banter, But only in the past of the fic, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen Aftermath, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24116380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: “If you insist,” Harry says, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “We’re here because we wandered into a greenhouse full of flowers that made us shag, and for some reason the Ministry has decided we need to talk about it in front of you, even though I think we’re both in complete agreement that we would really rather never talk about it again.”Or: Harry and Draco were sex pollened. They would just like to go back to ignoring each other now, thank you.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 38
Kudos: 565
Collections: Harry Potter, Id Pro Quo 2020





	Progress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphilologicalbatman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphilologicalbatman/gifts).



> A slightly belated treat for you. I haven’t written this ship in ages, but I fell in love with this prompt, and just had to give it a shot. I hope you have a great IPQ!

“This is Granger’s fault, you know.”

“How is this possibly Hermione’s fault?”

Draco points at the door they will, momentarily, be forced to enter. “Do you think we had dribble like this before she was in charge? ‘Human resources’? ‘Therapy’?” The words drip with contempt. “Ridiculous Muggle concepts.”

Harry is torn between defending Hermione and the very real fact that he happens to think this particular pet project of hers is a living nightmare and the last thing he ever wants to do.

Fortunately, he’s saved from making a choice by a short witch with poorly combed hair and deep purple robes emerging from the dreaded room.

“Harry? Draco?” she asks, as if there is any chance she is not already well aware of who they both are. “I am _delighted_ to see you. Come in, come in!”

Harry glances at Draco as they stand.

 _First names?_ Draco mouths, brows drawing in angrily. He probably thinks that’s a terrible breach of etiquette. Harry shrugs, just to prove that he, for one, doesn’t care about things like that.

Though as they slide into the room, studiously avoiding accidentally bumping into each other, he has to admit he’d feel better about the situation if their new guide to a functioning working relationship didn’t have stains down the front of her robe.

***

The witch introduces herself as Aberdeen. She has the kind of forced-cheerful demeanor that’s a little off-putting at the best of times, and _very_ off-putting when you’re personally feeling miserable, which Harry is.

“So, here we are,” she says once they settle into small chairs placed too close to each other for comfort. “Which of you would like to begin?”

Harry studiously looks anywhere but her, as if avoiding eye contact will make this whole situation go away. Unfortunately, looking around her office does nothing to lift his mood. It’s depressingly small, and her attempt to cheer it up with posters of nice landscapes just serves to highlight how dreary the whole thing is. If he had to guess, he’d say whoever is in charge of assigning offices shares Draco’s distaste for Hermione’s experiment with better employee resources.

“Harry,” Aberdeen says, chipperness turning stern. “Would _you_ like to begin?”

“Not really, no.”

He hears Draco snort, but refuses to look in his direction.

“We’re not going to get anywhere with that attitude,” Aberdeen chides. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you two here today?”

Harry considers asking why _he_ has to start when this is all Draco’s fault in the first place, but he has a feeling that’s the kind of comment that will net them ten more hours sitting in this room. While his boss—and his teammates, and, fine, most people he knows—would find this hard to believe, he has actually learned to hold his tongue since Hogwarts, relatively speaking.

“If you insist,” he says, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “We’re here because we wandered into a greenhouse full of flowers that made us shag, and for some reason the Ministry has decided we need to talk about it in front of you, even though I think we’re both in complete agreement that we would really rather never talk about it again.”

Aberdeen makes a surprised sound at the word “shag.” Adjusting her robes awkwardly, she turns towards Draco. “Would you agree with that assessment?”

“Entirely,” Draco drawls. Harry wonders if he’s also thinking that this might be the first time they’ve agreed on anything in their entire lives. “And furthermore, I have investigated this therapy concept”—he sounds like he’s swallowed something disgusting when he says _therapy_ —“and my research would lead me to believe that in the Muggle world, these sorts of conversations would happen in private. Without the other party there.”

Harry is startled enough to glance over. Draco looks completely serious. Harry wonders if he wants out of this situation so badly he actually did research, or if he’s just lying with confidence. Either way, Aberdeen makes another shocked sound and once again straightens her robe.

Yeah, she has no idea what she’s doing.

“Be that as it may,” she says, voice pitched higher, “this is how the Ministry has decided to handle the situation. After all, something like this simply wouldn’t happen in the Muggle world.”

“And you have had what training, exactly?” Draco challenges. “Tell me, what qualifies you to address the _deep trauma_ we’ve experienced?”

“Oh, so you do admit there’s trauma?” Aberdeen smiles triumphantly, as if she’s won.

Draco stares at her. Harry stares at her, too.

“You’re not serious,” he blurts out. “You _must_ realize that was sarcastic. He’s Draco Malfoy! Subtle isn’t in his vocabulary.”

“Thank you, Potter,” Draco sneers. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. But yes, in this case, that was sarcasm, Miss…what did you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t. I find this works better if we maintain a level of familiarity.” She’s still wearing that triumphant smile. “And, to your point: just because you hide behind sarcasm does not mean your words don’t contain truth.”

Draco opens his mouth, then closes it and leans back in his chair. He crosses his arms, clearly at a loss for how to proceed.

Aberdeen looks between them serenely. “I’m sensing tension. Would either of you like to address that?”

They both remain quiet.

“No? Well, that’s fine. We have many more sessions ahead of us.” She closes a notebook Harry hadn’t noticed open on her lap. He doesn’t think she took any notes, but he still doesn’t like it. “If you do not want to speak, we can sit in silence for the remainder of our time today.”

So they sit in silence for twenty long minutes, all staring at each other. When the time is up, Aberdeen cheerfully tells them to please be prepared to talk next week.

“And what if we aren’t?” Draco asks as she ushers them out the door.

“Then you can continue to work desk jobs,” she replies, still chipper, as if it does not make one lick of difference to her. It probably doesn’t. “That would be such a shame, after the Ministry finally allowed you in the field. I hear it took ages to grant permission.” She pats Draco’s arm condescendingly. Harry has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing—and he only does that because he’d rather not get on Aberdeen’s bad side. Or at least, not on her worse side. He’s pretty sure he’s already on her bad side. 

“I saw you smirking,” Draco tells him once Aberdeen disappears back into her office. “You’re still insufferable.”

“Takes one to know one.” Then, just to be sure, Harry adds, “You’re not, right?”

“Not what, Potter? I’m certainly not a mind reader.”

“Traumatized.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “No, I am not traumatized. Just because I’m not salivating at the thought of your newly-single knob like the rest of the Wizarding World doesn’t mean I’m traumatized by it. You’re not that special.”

Yeah. No idea why he bothered to ask. “Fine. Well, see you next week, I guess.”

“We don’t have to make small talk, Potter. Let’s just go our separate ways.”

“Sounds great. I look forward to not talking you until we’re in this room again.”

“Insufferable,” Draco repeats, before whisking away with a dramatic flair that makes Harry kind of want to punch him. 

***

Harry is not traumatized either, not that Draco asked.

If he sometimes dreams about Draco shoving his cock down his throat, or throwing Draco over the nearest bench and screwing him until he screamed, or that split second where their lips met and the desperation of the magic subsided and he actually felt content—well, that isn’t trauma. That isn’t anything. That’s just dreams. He dreams about lots of things. No need to read anything into it.

***

The second therapy session goes about as well as the first. They don’t say a single word of substance. Aberdeen gives them worksheets to fill out at home.

***

Third session, neither of them have done the worksheets, and she sends them away without making them stew in silence. 

“Remember,” she warns. “You don’t get to return to the field until I say you’re ready. You might want to start taking this more seriously.”

***

Halfway through the next week, Draco approaches Harry at his desk, which is something he has never once done. Ever.

“What?” Harry snaps. He’s been filling out paperwork all morning, his quill hand hurts, and he is just not in the mood.

“This isn’t working,” Draco says. “We’re Aurors. We’re supposed to be out there, not in here.”

Harry resists the temptation to point out that Draco wouldn’t know anything about that, seeing as he managed to lead them into a trap on his very first assignment. And furthermore, while Harry accepted years ago that Draco was a child during their Hogwarts days and didn’t deserve to go to Azkaban for his crimes, it’s still completely absurd that the Ministry let him become an Auror in the first place, and really, this whole incident proves that he should never have been given the chance.

Yeah, those are all things he could point out. All things he’s been _dying_ to point out ever since Draco showed up in their office months ago. But he doesn’t, because that would be—what does Aberdeen call it?—counter-productive.

“What’s your point?” he asks. “That we should start taking Aberdeen seriously?”

“Merlin, no.” Draco looks horrified at the idea. “But we need to convince her we’re ‘better’ so we can get back to real work. Which means we have to pretend to be bad and then improve. Don’t you agree?”

Harry blinks at him. If he’s not entirely crazy, Draco’s actually making sense. “So, what are you proposing?”

“As much as it pains me, I think we need to work together on this.” Draco sighs dramatically, as if it’s not enough to _say_ it pains him, he has to go out of his way to make Harry really understand how little he wants to do this. “Dragon's Breath Pub, tonight?”

Harry sigh back, because two can play that game. “Fine,” he agrees. “But you’re buying.”

***

The Dragon’s Breath lives up to its name: it’s soiled, sticky, and smells vaguely burnt. It’s also highly unpopular with the Ministry crowd, in part because of those qualities, and in part because it’s a known hotspot of gambling and dirty deals. The kinds of deals that require shadowed booths tucked away in unseen corners.

In other words, perfect.

“Good choice,” Harry says as he scoots into a booth next to Draco. The setup of the table leaves them closer together than he would like, but it also means they’re hidden behind a strategically placed wooden beam. “Discreet.”

Draco slides a tumbler overflowing with beer in Harry’s direction. He takes it, more grateful for the alcoholic reinforcement than he’s willing to let on.

“Do my ears deceive me, or did Harry Potter just compliment me?”

Harry feels a surge of inexplicable rage at the barb, but he clenches his hands and refuses to rise to the bait. He’s not a teenager anymore, and last time he allowed himself to be distracted by Draco Malfoy being an annoying little shit, they ended up pressed together in the greenhouse of a would-be new Dark Lord, humping like Puffskeins while their colleagues shouted lewd comments from outside.

The memory makes him flush. He tells himself it’s from embarrassment. Which doesn’t explain why his cock twitches, but he can ignore that. He takes a long gulp of his beer before replying, “I am capable of giving compliments when they’re earned.”

“Does that mean I really am the best fuck you’ve ever had? I’m flattered.”

Harry chokes on his beer, coughing and sputtering. “I never said that.”

“Mmm, I think you did, actually. Right around your third orgasm.”

Harry pushes the mug away and rubs his eyes. He can’t believe this is where the conversation has gone. Already. “We were under the influence of magical flowers, Draco. It doesn’t count.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t ‘ten-thousand times better than with Ginny?’” Draco smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “Tell me, Potter, was it your first time with a man? Did I open up a whole new world for you?”

Harry slams his hands against the table, taking a deep breath to keep from—what? Shouting, or maybe strangling Draco with his bare hands. “We. Were. Cursed,” he repeats through gritted teeth.

“Touchy.” Draco raises his eyebrows. “Did I hit a sore spot?”

Harry sucks in another deep breath. Draco is just trying to get under his skin because he’s never grown out of being twelve years old. It doesn’t mean anything, and he shouldn’t let it bother him. There’s definitely no truth to it. 

He clears his throat. He takes another sip of beer. He clears his throat again. “I think we got off to a bad start. Can we focus on how we plan to convince Aberdeen we’re better?”

Draco is still smirking as he nods, like he thinks he scored a point. “I’ve been doing some research. The Muggles make a big deal out of the idea of flashbacks. Seems like a good place to start.”

“Flashbacks,” Harry repeats. “Like, memories?”

“Yes, except very intense. And uncontrollable. The kind that come out of nowhere and you can’t stop them, you know?”

Harry does know. Not about what happened a few weeks ago with Draco, but sometimes he hears a high, chilling voice whispering his name, or sees bodies falling in the Battle of Hogwarts, screams and blood and—

He shivers, and nods. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Right?”

Draco sounds, shockingly, not the least bit sarcastic. When Harry meets his eyes, there’s something resembling understanding there. Or maybe pity, but the idea of being pitied by Draco Malfoy is too sickening to contemplate, so he decides to consider it understanding.

He clears his throat again. “So, flashbacks. What’s the plan?”

“I figure, there’s no way to prove them,” Draco explains. “So, we say we’ve been getting them, we talk about how scary it all was, then a few weeks later, wow, talking about it really worked, no more flashbacks, we’re cured.”

“That’s…not a terrible plan,” Harry admits, reluctantly impressed. “Fine, let’s do it.”

“Wow. That was easy.”

Harry shrugs. It’s not like he had any better ideas, not that he’ll admit that. “I told you, I can give a compliment when it’s earned. Besides, this way, I can leave.” He stands, shoving his half-drunk beer in Draco’s direction. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but that would be a lie.”

“Great working with you, too, Potter,” Draco sneers, whatever kindness that had momentarily overtaken him already gone. “See you in session. Think about your story, please.”

***

Aberdeen stares them down, mouth drawing into a sharp point.

“Flashbacks,” she repeats. “Are they upsetting?”

“They’re annoying,” Harry offers. Draco makes a disgruntled sound; out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees him shake his head slightly. “And, er, yes. Very upsetting. I’m very upset.”

“How often are you getting them?” Aberdeen prompts.

“Several times a week,” Draco jumps in, confident. “Completely randomly.”

“Yeah, um, same,” Harry echoes. “Same idea.”

Aberdeen snorts and shuts her notebook, which Harry as come to learn means the session is over. “You two will have to do better than that,” she says. “Honestly, I would expect a pair of Aurors to be more accomplished liars.”

Harry and Draco exchange defeated looks.

“This would be a whole lot easier if you just talked to me about your feelings,” she added.

Harry didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close call.

***

“That was _terrible_ ,” Draco tells Harry once they’re beyond Aberdeen’s prying ears. “Truly awful. How _did_ you survive as an Auror for so many years?”

“I usually have some actual prep before going undercover, for one,” Harry snaps back. The worst part is knowing Draco is right: he, Harry, is the one who messed up in there. He hadn’t given their plan much of a second thought since their meeting. Which had nothing to do with not wanting to think too much about Draco’s other comments at the pub. Of course not.

“I’m not the one who decided to leave as soon as the plan was announced,” Draco points out. “We’ll just have to do better next week. Same time and place?”

“What?”

Draco looks at him like he’s an idiot. “We obviously need to try again. With, as you _just_ put it, ‘some actual prep.’ I will repeat so it gets through your thick skull: same time and place?”

Harry contemplates saying no, but he figures the sooner they get this over with, the sooner they can go back to ignoring each other. He nods.

***

This time, Harry beats Draco to the pub; when Draco joins him at the same booth, he scrunches his nose and waves his wand, uttering a cleaning spell that washes across the table before he takes a seat. Harry feels a little foolish for not thinking of that himself. No wonder the table felt extra sticky.

“How did you find this place, anyway?” Harry asks as Draco slides into place beside him. “It doesn’t seem like your scene.”

Draco gives him a derisive look. “You know nothing about me, Potter.”

“I know you just crinkled your nose at this table like it was covered in dragon dung.”

“Having standards does not preclude spending time in places below them when necessary.” Draco gestures at the beers Harry has brought over. “Not that you would know about that, seeing as you appear to have no standards at all.”

“You don’t have to drink it,” Harry points out, feeling a little defensive. A beer is a beer, though these are, admittedly, the cheapest on the menu.

Draco pulls his beer towards himself. “If I’m going to sit here talking to you, I really do.”

“One of the few things we can agree on.” Harry raises his glass in a mock toast. “So, she saw right through the flashback thing, what do we do now?”

Draco tilts his head. “Why do I have to do all the thinking?”

“Because you’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place?”

“Are you serious?” Draco puts his beer down, sitting straighter. “Is that what you actually think?”

“Obviously.” How is this even a question? Draco distracted him the whole mission, hissing a constant stream of idiotic questions in what Harry can only assume was a misguided attempt to prove his years of sitting on the bench were worth something. _Why are we going this way? Did you know Professors Who Cares postulates that the best spell for this situation is No One Gives a Pixie’s Arse?_ And on and on until—

“You were the one who led us into the greenhouse,” Draco says.

Yeah, until that.

“Only because _you_ were distracting me!”

“I was attempting to understand the mission, Potter. Trust me, if there had been anyone else to ask, I would have. It’s not my fault I was assigned to go with you.”

“Oh sure, ‘understand the mission.’ You were attempting to annoy me, that’s what you were attempting.”

“I really wasn’t.” Draco sounds plaintive, frustrated. “I actually had questions. I know this may come as a shock to the great Harry Potter, who can do no wrong and always wins no matter what, but some of us actually care about procedure and doing things the right way.”

“Draco, it was your _first mission_. You don’t know anything about the right way!”

“ _That’s why I was asking questions_.”

Draco flings his hands in the air, gesturing so widely he knocks over his beer. With a shout, he springs away from the table, dodging the spilling liquid, which Harry calmly vanishes with a flick of his wand. 

“Like that,” he says, injecting a little haughtiness. Give Draco a taste of his own medicine, for once. “An Auror should be able to deal with spilled beer without panicking.”

“You’re insufferable,” Draco tells him for the millionth time in their lives, but there’s not much bite to it. Cautiously, he takes his seat again. “But, point taken.”

Harry lets out an exasperated gasp. He has no idea why sometimes Draco seems halfway reasonable, and sometimes he’s still the biggest git in the world.

“You know,” he says, considering, “if we’d had that fight in front of Aberdeen, she probably would’ve given us a gold star.”

Suddenly, they look at each other, eyes going wide.

“That’s it!” they say at the same time.

***

“Better,” Aberdeen tells them after their carefully crafted repeat performance. “But clearly rehearsed.”

“Are you joking?” Harry protests. “That was our actual feelings!”

She shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. But it was clearly rehearsed. Still, I feel like we’ve made progress. Very minor progress. It’s not enough. I’m going to require another month of sessions. At least.”

***

This time when they escape from her clutches Draco turns to Harry and says, “I need a beer. Right now. You in?”

Harry’s so surprised, he agrees without thinking about it.

***

They down their first beers in silence. It’s awkward. Harry suddenly has no idea why Draco asked him to join him, and even less idea why he agreed. He almost gets up and goes while Draco is off fetching another round, but curiosity compels him to stay.

“So, another month,” he says when Draco returns. “That’s awful.”

“Hence the drinks.” Draco sighs, but it’s not the over-exaggerated sigh he uses when trying to express contempt. This is a real sigh of frustration. “I’m running out of ideas here, Potter.”

Harry nods. “I don’t know what she wants from us.”

“Our _feelings_ ,” Draco replies, adapting a high, breathy voice that isn’t a half-bad imitation of Aberdeen’s affected cheeriness. “She just wants us to be _honest_.”

“About _what_?” Harry has actually been thinking about this, out of sheer desperation to find a way to end the whole ordeal. “I know she wants us to make some big thing out of it, but it honestly just—wasn’t.”

“Agreed. I was far more traumatized by the time you tried to murder me in the boys’ bathroom.”

Harry snaps his head around, only to be hit with a shock: Draco is grinning, as if he finds this whole situation terribly amusing. In a dark way, he’s not wrong.

“Yeah, that would be something,” Harry says, imagining it. “Dear Aberdeen, being made extra horny by an experimental flower breed doesn’t even break the top one-hundred worst things that has ever happened me. Would you like an itemized list, or shall I just hand you the ten biographies?”

“I only have two biographies,” Draco muses, “and they aren’t very nice about me.”

“To be fair, you weren’t very nice.” Maybe it’s the beer, or maybe he’s just in a generous mood because Draco’s hatred of Aberdeen gives them a common enemy, but Harry finds himself adding, “Maybe once we get reinstated, you’ll do enough good as an Auror to get a better one someday.”

Draco’s face does something weird, morphing from surprised to touched to neutral so quickly Harry thinks he may have imagined it. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.”

They lapse into silence.

“Maybe that’s it,” Harry muses. “Honestly. Maybe we just say: listen, Aberdeen, this wasn’t a big deal to us. We did far worse to each other before we even graduated Hogwarts, and the Ministry thought we were fine to work together before.”

“Yeah, because that went so well.”

“Again, you were the one distracting me!”

“With totally valid questions!”

Harry runs his hand through his hair, feeling his fingers tremble with repressed frustration. Only Draco. “Okay, so maybe we shouldn’t partner up in the future, but the general point still stands. Honestly, having sex was probably the best we’ve ever gotten along.”

Draco looks at him sideways, a little startled. “That’s true,” he agrees. “Maybe that’s what we should do. Just show up to her office and go at it right there on her rickety little desk.”

“I think she’d faint.”

“Which would be a major improvement.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” Harry lets his amusement show on his face. This conversation has actually taken a turn for the enjoyable, which he didn’t know was possible with Draco. “That would be a lot more fun than talking about our feelings.”

Draco tilts his head, examining Harry. Then, suddenly, he leans across the space between them, wraps his hand around the back of Harry’s neck, and pulls him into a kiss.

On instinct, Harry kisses back, opening his lips, sinking into the warmth of his mouth and the taste of beer on his tongue. Heat pools in his stomach, reminding him of the smell of fresh-cut flowers and—

He jerks to a stop, remembering who this is. He pulls away. “What the—?”

“You said it,” Draco presses, leaning forward, crowding Harry’s personal space. “The best we ever got along was having sex.”

Harry gapes. That wasn’t meant to be a suggestion that they should repeat the exercise.

(Wasn’t it? No, it wasn’t. Right?)

“So?” he stutters. “That doesn’t mean we should—”

But then Draco is kissing him again, and Harry can’t deny the jolt of arousal to his cock, which makes one thing very clear: the fire he’d felt between them back on the mission wasn’t all down to the plants.

“Draco, _what_?” Harry gasps between kisses.

“If we’re going to be forced to spend time together, might as well have fun, right?”

Harry thinks that logic doesn’t hold up, but his body has other ideas. His body thinks that logic makes perfect sense.

***

They apparate to Draco’s house—of course he insists on his place. Harry doesn’t get a chance to look around before he’s shoved into the bedroom.

When Draco drops to his knees, raises Harry’s robes, pulls down his pants, and wraps his mouth around his dick in what amounts to one swift motion, Harry has to admit: Draco had a point. This is a lot better than talking.

***

After, they lie staring at the ceiling, tangled under Draco’s sheets, which are some kind of silk ridiculousness that sticks uncomfortably to Harry’s sweaty skin. 

“So,” Harry says. “You think this is the kind of healing Aberdeen had in mind?”

Draco laughs, and Harry laughs with him. They laugh together—laugh and laugh, letting the absurdity of it all wash over them until they can barely breathe.

***

Draco’s shoulder bumps Harry’s as they squeeze through the door into Aberdeen’s office that week. Harry bumps him back, intentionally, as if to say, _Here we go_.

To his surprise, Aberdeen takes one look at them, raises her eyebrows, and says, “Oh look, finally some progress.”

***

That evening, as Harry fucks Draco on his ridiculous bed—same as they’ve done every night since that first one—he pants, “You don’t think she knows, does she?”

“No,” Draco gasps, fingers gripping his sheets. He arches his back, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist. “No way.”

“She has a point though,” Harry adds, speeding up. “We have made progress.”

“Can you please—stop—talking—about—Aberdeen?” Draco growls between Harry’s thrusts. “And—focus—on—me?”

Harry does, grabbing Draco’s hips, thrusting at just the right angle, the one he’s learned makes him scream. It only takes a few more minutes for him to tumble over the edge, and a few quick strokes of Draco’s cock to bring him along after him. 

“That enough focus for you?” Harry asks as Draco is still coming down from his orgasm, eyes unfocused and face relaxed in a way it never is in any other context.

“Insufferable,” Draco responds, but a smile flits across his lips, and as Harry rolls out of bed to clean up, he adds, “Same time and place tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms. “Definitely.”

See? Progress.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved <3
> 
> Originally posted anon because of an exchange. Re-dated with my name on it, sorry if you've seen it before!


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